


Blessed, Magical Sound

by storyplease



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Animagus, F/M, Finding home, Love, Magical Creatures, Mixes, Music, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 18:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17065121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyplease/pseuds/storyplease
Summary: Music is more than just noise in one's ears, if Hermione has anything to say about it. From despair to ethereal joy, there is a song waiting in your heart if you are only willing to seek it out.





	Blessed, Magical Sound

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: For all the mixes I have loved and lost...and found.

 

There was only one sort of magic that Severus adored that had nothing to do with the fact that he was a wizard. From a young age, it would fill his heart with warmth even when their fire burned low, and it was sustenance even when the food on the table was scarce.

As a young child, he knew not to touch the wooden monstrosity in the corner. It filled him with delight, and he could remember scooting himself over to it and clapping happily as somebody sang to him and him alone. It was just like magic. The dials on the radio weren't in English, but it was fairly easy to learn what each of them did after fiddling with them a bit. His father had gotten it from some dodgy guy out by the docks and used it to listen to the games on the radio. However, when he was out— at first at the mill but later when he was at the pub, his mum would turn the knob until it got to the slightly fuzzy jazz station and she'd hum along while she took care of the house and her son. There was something about the hum of the tubes and the sound of the music that seemed to fill up their hovel of a home and make it feel more homey and comforting. His father didn't even seem to mind if he got home, and the music almost seemed to act like a blanket that helped to soften their cares and worries.

In fact, it wasn't until Severus was nearly nine years of age before his father finally got desperate enough to hock the radio for some booze, that he realized just how quickly discord could grow in silence. His father had yelled before, of course, but this was different. This was a deep, unending fury that could not be quenched by hitting walls or breaking bottles. Severus could see it eating his father from the inside out until it seemed to radiate from his body, looking to destroy anyone and anything it touched. His mother was first; she thought she could shield her son from his father's wrath, but she failed- in the end, she was only a husk of who she'd been.

He'd been ten when he fished the broken portable radio from a rubbish bin in the posh side of town and took it apart in the shed. It was rusted and wet inside, but he was patient with it. He dried and cleaned everything as best he could with the oddments he'd salvaged from around town. He'd pulled things from the bloated, filthy river that had looked terrible upon first inspection but had cleaned up enough to sell for a few pounds.

Tinkering with things kept him out of the house, kept his mind active. It helped him to ignore his disgrace of a father whenever the man was home. When he first got the radio to play, it sounded murky and scratchy, but it was a true victory, and the music filled him with a strength he'd thought lost. Over the next few weeks, he'd pulled apart at least a dozen other broken radios until he found exactly what he needed to make it sound at least halfway decent. In the end, it was an ugly, battered, black thing on the outside, but the inside sung marvelously, and Severus felt a kinship with it that he couldn't put into words.

In the summer, when the sky was clear at night, he'd hide up on the roof where nobody could find him, the radio safely tucked into his lap, and he'd listen to all manner of music that made him feel a spark inside of him glowing softly. It was a feeling that was something like hope— something to hold him over until his Hogwarts letter finally arrived.

* * *

Hermione never told anyone about the bright yellow Walkman she smuggled to Hogwarts in her first year. It hadn't been entirely on purpose; she'd only realized it was in her rucksack when she had reached into the front pocket to pull out her ticket for the Hogwarts Express.

Her parents had already hugged and kissed her several times and were waving to her from where they stood at the platform. They looked terribly out of place surrounded by all of the witches and wizards in pointed hats and robes, but Hermione loved them all the more for it. Though she was excited to begin her time at Hogwarts, she was also filled with a sudden stab of homesickness. Perhaps it was impulsive of her to tuck it back into the bag and zip it closed so it was out of sight. Perhaps it was foolish of her to think that it was too troublesome to  **run**  the ten or so steps back to her  **mother**  and father to return it to them with a sheepish grin. Perhaps she just wanted her parents to think that she had everything sorted, that she could be trusted to go off all by herself on a train to a place that none of them had ever seen before and learn how to find her way in a world that none of them had even known existed until earlier that spring.

Whatever the reason, she held her  **purple**  bag on her lap, tracing the indentation of her Walkman long after the train had pulled out of the station. Of course, she'd gotten caught up in Neville's toad fiasco soon after, and had put it out of her mind until she was putting her things away in her new dorm room on her first night.

The other girls had stayed behind in the common room, all of them excitedly chatting away with one another. Hermione, who'd always valued her solitude, decided to go upstairs first. She was pleasantly surprised to see her trunk placed on the ground near the foot of her bed and her rucksack on the dresser. She unpacked all of her clothing and placed it in the dresser next to the bed, then got out her toiletries and readied herself for bed. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the thick, velvet curtains around the beds weren't merely decorative and drew them around her bed until she felt as though she were sitting on a fluffy island in the middle of a scarlet sky.

"This is my new home," Hermione said softly, feeling a bit silly and small. She tried to remind herself how  **fortunate**  she was to have a talent for magic, but her belly filled with an aching sadness that seemed to be impervious to logic.

She threw herself back on the bed, her arms splayed outward, and her fingers pressed against a familiar purple material. Her hand lingered on the strap of her rucksack for a long moment and she pulled it to her, clasping it into a bear hug. It was only then that she remembered the Walkman; bright yellow and a bit scuffed on one side when one of the girls at school had pushed her while she was walking through the front gates to her Muggle school and she'd fallen forward, the Walkman sliding across the pavement.

She quickly opened the bag and pulled out her headphones and the blocky plastic Muggle music machine. She pushed the button to open the cassette door and looked at the tape inside. It was black with a piece of off-white masking tape affixed to one side.

STUDY MIX was written on the side in blocky letters. Hermione traced the letters fondly with a finger and thought back to when she'd created it using one of her father's state of the art sound system. She'd even figured how to record certain songs off the radio, though there were some uneven bits where the next song started playing before she could stop the tape. The others had been recorded using some of her father's records. Her heavy-handed mother was banned from touching them after she'd snapped a couple of the record needles and scratched his favorite Beatles album, but Hermione was so careful that she'd been given carte blanche by her father to play whatever albums she wished at the age of nine.

Hermione dug around in her bag to find the cassette tape box. She'd written all of the tracks very neatly on the paper insert, but was even more excited to find that she'd accidentally left a second tape in the box. This album contained two sides of classical piano arrangements from various artists from Beethoven to Vivaldi. Hermione, of course, was more of a fan of Debussy and Liszt, who both graced side two of the tape, but the entire album was one of her absolute favourites.

Popping out the Study Mix, Hermione inserted the classical tape and rewound it until it was around the correct size on the rightmost spool to be close to Claire De Lune. She placed the headphones on her ears and pressed PLAY.

She'd been told that technology wouldn't work at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall had emphasized this fact several times when she'd come to explain Hermione's Hogwarts letter.

Hermione had forgotten all about this.

And yet…

Sweet, rolling piano began to pump from the tiny speakers as the song started part way, and Hermione closed her eyes, her mind clearing of all thought other than the sensation of the music as it filled her head. When it had ended, she rewound the tape and started again, listening all the way through this time.

Just as the song was about to end, she heard the telltale sounds of many excited voices as the other girls made their way up the stairs toward the dorm room. Hermione quickly pressed the stop button and placed the walkman back in her bag, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

It was only later the next day that she realized that it wasn't supposed to work at all.

* * *

The Wizarding Wireless had been his mum's, and had definitely seen better days. She'd packed it in his trunk when he wasn't looking, but he was eternally grateful for it. Though the music it played wasn't particularly to his liking, it was one of his first opportunities to learn about Wizarding news and culture. His mother had pulled it out from time to time over the years, but she'd been careful not to do so while her husband was around. This way, Severus was able to get familiar with songs that he knew his future friends would know by heart. His mother was quick to impart the importance of meeting the "right sort" from the beginning.

"You will be able to find a good place in our world, Severus. I never wanted this for you, and if you play your cards right, you will never have to live this life again."

Appearances were more important than anything, and Severus scoured his books to learn the beautification charms he needed. Soon, his wizarding wireless was cloaked with a glamour that made it look like the first rate models in the shop on Diagon Alley. It was so coveted by his roommates that he added a shocking charm of his own design that kept anyone with sticky fingers from touching it but him.

In this way, Severus was able to fabricate a life of luxury that belied the truth of his mean existence for quite some time, that is, until Sirius Black had dug out an old edition of the Prophet about his mother's marriage to a Muggle and given it to several of the biggest gossips in school.

By then, he'd fixed up a record player and pieced together a fairly respectable sound system in his little shed back at home. It truly was amazing what the wealthy muggles would throw out not even knowing the true worth of their things. Severus loved reading liner notes and had even created a clever little charm that could smooth out scratches on records. Luckily, he knew where his mother's wand was hidden, and what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

But that summer, Severus had gone on the warpath, destroying all of the Muggle items he owned. He eschewed his Muggle clothing for his school robes, he refused to go to church, and he even refused to read Muggle books. He convinced himself that he would be able to scrub out the stain that was his father's dirty blood, and finally be the smooth and suave pureblood he'd pretended to be for years. At least Lucius was still writing him letters; he knew Severus' worth even if it was in untraceable hexes and potions that did dubious things.

In the end, he couldn't destroy his Muggle music collection. The music drew him like a siren's song, pumping through his veins and easing his suffering. "Shine on you crazy diamond!" wailed from the speakers, and Severus felt the first reprieve from the stormy thoughts he'd had all year. The Wizarding Wireless had nothing on this— this raw, real music accompanied by wailing guitar solos and electronic sounds he'd never thought possible.

He would get through this—he would finally have his moment to shine no matter what anyone else said about him. His only regret was that he knew that he wouldn't be able to take the music once he finally left the Muggle world once and for all.

* * *

"What's with the  **hat** , Hermione?" Harry asked, and Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin.

Fiddling with a hidden interior pocket on her robes that she'd sewn herself to keep her Walkman safe and hidden, Hermione pressed the STOP button, covering up the sound with a sneeze. She was wearing a ridiculously baggy hat she'd knitted over the summer. It was done in red and gold, and her mum had to help her with finishing the trim, but she loved it. It also served a dual purpose, though nobody seemed any wiser thus far. Hermione could wear her bushy hair down, then tuck her headphones under the hat and nobody would notice. Her hair hid the headphone cords where they poked out under her collar nicely as well.

"Um, well, you know how it gets cold in the library when I study all afternoon!" Hermione said, trying to play off her surprise as tiredness.

"Hermione, I know we haven't spoken much this year because you've been taking so many classes, but...I...I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for shouting at you earlier."

Hermione blinked. She'd been using the time turner so often now that final exams were closing in on them that she couldn't remember what day it was supposed to be. "Thank you, Harry. I obviously don't appreciate being yelled at, but I know you're going through a hard time too. Just...don't bottle it up inside of you. You'll just end up exploding and lashing out at people."

Harry took a deep breath and smile sheepishly at her. "You know, you're right. How are you always so level-headed, Hermione?"

Hermione's hand brushed against the hidden Walkman in her pocket as she brought her finger up to poke Harry on the tip of the nose in a playful manner. "Easy. I've had plenty of time to practice cooling down after you two drive me mad. At this point, it practically takes no time at all."

Harry snorted and took her by the hand. "C'mon, it's nearly meal time. You've gotta keep up your strength."

Hermione sighed deeply and closed her textbook reluctantly. "Fine. Lead the way."

* * *

Someone was whistling the tune to  _Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band_  in the hall outside the library and Severus couldn't help but tap along to the beat. When he realized it was Remus Lupin, he stopped abruptly, his cheeks colouring with mortification. There was absolutely no way he could ever like something that damned Gryffindor would ever listen to!

"-we hope you will enjoy the sho-oh!"

But then he heard Lily's voice singing the words, and his heart clenched with loss. Lupin joined in and he clenched his fists. It was only a few months after they'd finally parted ways, and only a few months more since he'd nearly died at the hands of that damned werewolf. He ducked into an alcove as they passed by, hiding his face in shame as his eyes stung with bitter tears.

_She prefers a murderous beast over me._  The thought burned in his chest, then spread to his brain until his head felt like a buzzing scribble of awfulness. In the end, he scurried back down to the Potions classroom (Slughorn had technically given him access in his first year by being stupid enough to leave his password to the classroom on his desk in his office), and he brewed an experimental potion until the sun rose. He tapped his foot in time to "One is the Loneliest Number" as it played in his head and he tried to forget the way her eyes lit up while she was singing.

* * *

Hermione watched as her parents' eyes went dull and empty. Their memories of her were nearly gone, but Hermione couldn't help herself. She put on a record as they sat back in their chairs, their eyes closed.

"Yesterday," by the Beatles began to play softly, and Hermione made sure to tuck their plane tickets to Australia into their front pockets before she softly locked the door to their home behind her with her wand.

She leaned heavily against the front door, her tears falling on the cheesy  _Welcome_  mat until she felt as though her heart was completely wrung out. It was late and dark by the time she finally took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Then, she pulled her father's best headphones up over her ears and slipped her hand into her pocket, turning on her newest mixtape. Her "Death to Death Mix" started with "Eye of the Tiger" and she composed her expression into one of grim determination. Pulling her hood down until it partially covered her face, Hermione stepped off the front porch and Apparated away.

* * *

Severus coveted his one weekend off each month. Unlike most of the other professors, who used it to see friends and family members, Severus did only one thing with his free time. He would go back to the empty, shabby house on Spinner's End, and he would play music as loudly as he wished until his entire mind was blank and he could finally sleep.

Spinner's End was basically a deserted street filled with decrepit, falling-apart homes and gutted remains of buildings. Other than a few homeless people and the odd rats or pigeon, Severus knew he was practically alone for miles. So if he wanted to play the entirety of  _The Wall_ at full volume, he had no fear of attracting attention.

This past year had been especially hard, what with Albus doing his damnedest to curse himself to death. Severus still had high hopes for finding a cure, but so far all of his potion experiments had been abject failures. The Dark Lord had been fairly light on summoning Severus, for which Severus was eternally grateful.

He finally reached his home by floo and began to check out his wards—nothing seemed to be out of place, but ever since Narcissa and Bellatrix had visited at the beginning of the year, Severus could not help but feel paranoid. Narcissa had been an idiot to bring her insane sister along, but then again she had been panicking and Severus was very familiar with the hubris of making bad decisions while filled with fear. The house was filled with the same dust and decay that it always was. Nobody had been there in his absence. Severus breathed a sigh of relief.

He went out to the shed, then, to get his musical equipment, and froze. The lock on the door, which had been charmed to give any Muggle who messed with it a nasty shock, was blackened and half-melted.

He pulled open the door, his eyes going wide as he surveyed the destruction inside.

The shed was small but over the years, he'd salvaged wood and built shelving into the walls on all sides until they practically reached the ceiling. Everything inside was destroyed, most things incinerated beyond repair. But Severus could see the telltale blast marks that had to have come from a magic wand. His record collection was shattered. His speakers looked as though they'd been pierced by arrows. And his radio...it looked as though it had been split in two. On a flat piece of parchment in the middle of the room, written in a scrawl of red ink were the words, "MUSTN'T TOUCH MUDBLOOD THINGS."

The parchment looked a bit damp, so it had obviously been there for awhile, but Severus knew that it had to have happened after his last visit the month before. From the extent of the destruction, yet the obvious care not to destroy the shed itself, Bella had been busy. She mustn't have liked how the Dark Lord had favoured Severus and asked him to sit at his side during the last meeting.

Severus clenched his teeth to keep himself from letting out the bellow of fury and loss that threatened to escape his lips, and set to cleaning up the mess. He went slowly and methodically, mentally cataloguing every item that had graced the walls of the shed.

Out of the ashes, though, he made a few happy discoveries. She hadn't destroyed all of his records. There were still a few that were stuck in the side of the absurdly thick wooden cabinet he'd kept them in and escaped with minimal or no damage at all. He had to blink away tears when he saw that  _Dark Side of the Moon_  and  _The Wall_  had survived. They had gotten him through more dark times than he'd like to remember. One of his treble speakers was a bit charred but the internal parts were intact, and two of his subwoofers had sustained only cosmetic damage. But most fortuitous of all was the record player, unharmed but for the broken needle and the dented plastic cover that had taken most of the damage for the deck. Hugging his few remaining precious belongings to his chest, Severus vowed that he would have his revenge.

It seemed almost childish, he would think later, but somehow, the destruction she had wrought was far more personal than any hex she could have aimed at his person.

That night, he played  _The Wall_  on his ailing sound system (the needle had been easy enough to repair with his magic, but the rest would take some work), and fell asleep with the mental image of Bellatrix being trapped, brick by brick, behind an impenetrable, magical wall.

* * *

The battle was over, but in Hermione's mind the fighting still raged on. She kept thinking back, trying to undo the things that were done and do things that had not been done quickly enough. She sat in the shadows, watching the Weasleys fret over Fred, who lay on a cot without most of his left arm, his right leg practically missing up to his hip. Ron was sitting by Percy's covered corpse and staring off into nothingness. One of his curses had accidentally hit his brother in the heat of battle and though nobody blamed him, it seemed it had shattered his sanity.

Harry had been the one to drag Hermione to the Shack, though. Hermione didn't want to see Snape's dead body, not after she'd watched him dying in front of her.

And yet, when they arrived, there was nothing but an empty Shack. A large puddle of freshly drying blood was the only indication that anyone had lain on that floor recently.

Harry had raved that Snape was a hero, despite the evidence to the contrary. He'd gone on about a pensieve full of memories, but Hermione had been too exhausted to look at them. Harry had finally run off to speak with Dumbledore's portrait, but Hermione couldn't think of the next step in their adventure. With the groans of the wounded and the stillness of the dead lying only feet away, Hermione couldn't help but feel as though all of this was far too real for her to bear.

Hermione tried to put it out of her mind, but it rose back in her head again.

Clutching herself tightly, she felt a familiar lump against her chest. Bewildered, she pulled the Walkman from her hidden pocket. The top part of the headphones had snapped, but they were good as new with a quick  _Reparo_. She placed them over her ears and pressed PLAY.

"I've heard there was a secret chord,

That David played and it pleased the Lord,

But you don't really care for music, do you?"

Hearing Leonard Cohen's rough voice singing the words to  _Hallelujah_  stilled the fluttering fearful animal in her chest, until a calm weight rested there instead.

As the song ended, Hermione pressed STOP and tucked her headphones away. Then, she stood and stepped out of the shadows towards Ron. She pressed her hand against his shoulder and then knelt down and wrapped her arms around him. The faraway look in his eyes cleared and he hugged her back. Harry arrived shortly after, and the hug seemed to grow and grow until all of the survivors were huddled together, arm in arm and hand in hand. Someone started humming and suddenly there was a burst of song filling the air. Hermione sang along, though she didn't know half of the words, but there was a muted joy growing in the room.

Hermione smiled. Her chest hummed with the beat of so many hearts all around her. They told her that one day soon, all would be well.

* * *

Severus was in a theater. It wasn't like any he'd ever been in before, as they were mostly smoky, dirty places where he could hide in the shadows. He'd only ever been able to see one or two Muggle bands live before his life had gone to hell, and mostly due to sneaking in using Notice Me Not Charms, so he didn't even have the ticket stubs to prove he'd gone.

This theater was far too white and sparkly for his liking. He felt like he stood out painfully against its brilliance, like a black smudge on a clean window.

"Ah, Severus, we've been expecting you," said a familiar voice.

Severus turned and stared. There, wearing an absurd sequined rainbow outfit, was Albus Dumbledore with a psychedelic peace-sign bandana around his forehead, a braided beard with flowers stuck in it, and rounded rainbow glasses. And beside him was none other than Freddie Mercury, who was somehow wearing something even more fabulous and flashy. It nearly made Severus' eyes hurt to look at the two of them as they grinned down from the stage at him.

"So. I must be dead, then." Severus fixed them both with his most unimpressed stare.

"Is that what you want to be, Severus?" Albus smiled wanly and held out a hand that was surprisingly free of a blackened curse and was also rather youthful-looking once Severus had a moment to focus on it. When he looked back up, Albus' beard had gone a reddish-gold colour, and his face was younger than Severus had ever seen it. "Why not jam with us a bit?"

Severus frowned at the hand then shrugged. After all, what else did he have to lose? Certainly not his dignity after that whole business with the snake and the dying. He took it, feeling an uncharacteristically strong pull and then he was on the stage.

"I...I'm not sure what I should do," he said, feeling a bit self-conscious.

John Lennon stepped forward and handed him a tambourine. "Can you keep a beat?"

Severus smiled, which was odd, because he couldn't remember the last time his lips had done such a thing of their own accord, and nodded. "I believe I can."

A warm wave of music washed over him as legends he'd only ever heard of began to play together. Albus was killing it on the keyboard, which made Severus wonder if the deceased headmaster had somehow been getting lessons in the afterlife while Severus had been toiling about trying to keep the death toll from climbing.

Still, it was hard for Severus to hold it against the man. The cares of the world of the living seemed to blur and fade as he began to bang the tambourine on the side of his leg. Later, at some point, he was given a pair of drumsticks and sat in front of an intimidating drum set.

"You can do it, Severus," Albus encouraged as Jerry Garcia gave them a double thumbs-up. He felt himself getting into a groove, his uneven beats going from frantic to something like an actual driving beat, and the rest began to play along at the tempo he created. After what felt like an eternal jam session, Severus paused to let Jimi Hendrix and Jerry duke it out on their guitars while Janis Joplin wailed on the mic. A hand rested on his shoulder and he turned to see Albus smiling down at him.

"How does it feel to have earned your rest, Severus?" he asked.

"I...I did what I could." Severus frowned. The music pulsed in his ears like a second heartbeat. "It wasn't enough." As soon as he said the words, he knew it was true.

"You know," Albus said, with a kindly smile, "If you're not ready for the final show, I could always sit in for you." He indicated the fluttering curtain behind them. "Just so you know, you'll never truly be done. It'll never be enough, my boy. But it is your life and your choice."

Severus looked at the curtain, his heart clenching with dread, but he also could feel a sense of duty beating through him as sure as any heartbeat. "I cannot turn my back on them, now more than ever."

Dumbledore pulled him into a tight hug. "Don't worry. I'll keep your seat warm. Now shoo, before the rest of them find out you're better with a kick drum than I am."

Severus took a few steps towards the curtain, then looked back. Already, the others on the stage seemed far away, but their music was still as clear as ever, driving him forward, filling him with purpose.

He knew what he needed to do.

But first he had to get his life back.

* * *

Hermione stared out the window watching freezing raindrops beading up and running down the glass.

"Some way to start the new millenium," she muttered, tracing her finger down the frigid glass as she sat in the dark with her tea. She had set up a portable CD boombox on the end table next to her chair as it played "Millenium."

She had to admit that burning CD mixes on her computer had been quite a lot easier than tapes, but she hated how her Discman skipped every time she took a step. Sadly, her Walkman had died a few months prior, and Harry had tried to cheer her up by buying it for her birthday, assuring her that it was, "the latest in Muggle technology." No, the boombox was fine, especially since everyone else had gone home to celebrate the new year with their friends and family.

Harry and Ron were off on a trip to Hawaii now that they'd passed their final training and would be full-fledged Aurors upon their return. Hermione, however, had far too much work to complete in the lab to even think of leaving, even though it was New Year's Eve. Magical Law Enforcement had a forensics division for magical creature-involved incidents, but when Hermione had been hired on, it became obvious that the practices and procedures in place were woefully inadequate. She'd spent time taking Muggle university classes on criminology in her spare time and brought what she'd learned to the magical world. There was talk that she'd be receiving another award in the spring, but Hermione didn't care about any of that. She just wanted to improve things and provide clear and reliable results every time for every case.

Someone cleared their throat and Hermione turned back, narrowing her eyes. "Yes?"

"I don't meant to disturb you, but I need to turn the light on." A familiar voice drawled in the darkness.

"Oh, Severus, is that you? Sorry, I thought I was the only one here," Hermione said, suddenly feeling very self conscious about the pop music that was playing. They were usually the only night owls in this part of the Ministry building, but she often got the feeling like he was avoiding her. They'd only been on a first name basis for a few months, and that was only because he'd yelled at her for accidentally calling him "professor" a few times.

"They've got me up brewing potions for the Langley case. Big trial in a week's time." Severus was standing in the doorway, the light spilling in from the hallway casting his body in shadow.

"How proactive of you!" Hermione said, impressed.

"It isn't as though I have much of a choice," Severus said, flipping on the light. He wore the telltale gray robes and runic bracelet that marked him as being on probation. Plenty of witches and wizards who had engaged in Dark activities or worked in league with Voldemort during the war had been given the option to redeem themselves and hero-spy or no, Snape had not been spared from the consequences of his actions.

Hermione wasn't sure how to feel about Kingsley's no-tolerance rule. It was, strictly speaking, fair enough. It didn't gloss over the wrongs done but didn't rake them over the coals either. Draco Malfoy had only received three months of probation and was already back on track to have a very successful career with the Unspeakables. But she had watched Molly receive a full pardon for blowing up Bellatrix, so she also knew that much of it was just politics as usual. The thought made her grimace.

Hermione squinted at the sudden brightness, but then turned back to the window. "At least it's not Azkaban."

"Ugh. All decaf?" Snape groaned as he searched through the basket of teabags on the counter. He put the teakettle on the single burner anyway, though, and selected one of the hated tea packets with a scowl. "No, it's definitely not Azkaban if this is the only swill they have available. It's clearly worse."

Hermione snorted, despite herself.

"Where is that music coming from?" Severus asked, striding over to the boom box and staring at it curiously. "It doesn't look like any wireless I've ever seen."

"It's a Muggle device," Hermione said, her cheeks a little pink as Christina Aguilera began singing about how "you gotta rub me the right way." She could only hope that he wouldn't pick up on any of the words.

"I thought Muggle devices and magic were not compatible," Severus replied, twisting the volume knob down and then back up again. "Curious."

"Well, in some situations, yes," Hermione explained. "I did some research and found that the original issue with magic and electricity had to do with putting in electric lights at Hogwarts. The wires and generators that the Ministry purchased from Muggle suppliers back in the 1930's to retrofit the castle were not particularly high quality and all it took was a surge of accidental magic to overload them. Apparently it just stuck that Muggle devices don't work in the public consciousness after that."

"The boombox here runs on batteries." She held up her mobile phone. "This works just fine as well."

Severus frowned at the phone. "It looks like a television remote."

"With a screen," Hermione added. "And I can play centipede!"

He looked at her with a skeptical expression just as the teakettle began to whistle. "I see no reason why you would look forward to playing with insects."

Hermione shook her head. "You don't understand."

Severus shrugged and began to pour the boiling water into his mug. "It is probably best if I refrain from doing so if I wish to retain my sanity."

Hermione checked the time on her phone screen. "Looks like the countdown is happening in three minutes. Would you like to do it together?"

A spoon clattered off of the counter and onto the floor and Hermione turned to look back at him.

He was staring at her, and for a moment she thought that he was going to agree to it. Then, he slowly bent to pick up the spoon and stood, shaking his head slowly.

"I have potions to check on," he said flatly, finishing his preparations and placing the spoon in the sink. As he turned to go, however, he seemed to think better of it, and turned back. "Thank you for the invitation, Hermione," he said, his voice tired, "but as far as I'm concerned, this new millennium can go straight to hell."

Hermione watched him go and switched the mode on the boombox to radio mode. As they began to play  _Auld Lang Syne_ , Hermione closed her eyes and wondered if this would finally be her year; if she'd finally feel like a real adult.

"Or maybe it's not that," she said softly, "Maybe it's that I've never had a chance to belong to anything."

* * *

Disaster struck few weeks later, during another late night working overtime. After five hours of mind-numbing paperwork, Hermione had noticed her body had begun cramping up from her neck to her toes from sitting in her office so long, so she decided to go on a walk in the deserted halls. Slipping on her behind-the-ear headphones, which were hidden under her hair and dosed with a Notice-Me-Not charm for good measure, Hermione set out to work out the aches and kinks in her body. Of course, what started out as a slow amble soon turned into an invigorating power-walking pace as an uncharacteristically high-tempo R.E.M. song came on. She was turning the corner at a pace that was approaching a jog, when someone let out a surprised yell and there was a sudden impact. She only had a moment to react before the front of her was covered with a thick, scalding liquid. The pain was excruciating, but she cried out even louder when the CD player hidden in her robes made a horrible, high-pitched beep and the song went silent right as R.E.M. was singing "—end of the world as we know it and I feel—"

"NO!" Hermione screamed, clutching the front of her robes, her hands burning with the pain of the liquid soaking into them. She tore at her clothing frantically, her mind focused on pulling her poor CD player from the hidden pocket and...she didn't know what she'd do after that, but she just had to get to it—

She only vaguely realized that someone was saying something in a rather urgent voice when she froze in an unnaturally rigid pose. She only had a moment to register that she'd been hit with a Full Body Bind before an unfamiliar spell washed over her along with the burning pain, and she sank into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Don't move, you're still healing." His voice was soft, but insistent, and Hermione stopped struggling to get free of the starched white sheets that were tucked tightly around her body.

She opened her eyes, then, and found herself in a softly-lit room. It was small and spartan other than a small desk and a bookcase.

"Where is this place?" she asked, wincing as a dull, burning ache began pulsing on her hands and down her chest.

"Don't get any ideas," Severus said, his expression grim. "I'm not helping you out of the goodness of my heart."

Hermione thought for a moment and nodded. "It doesn't matter what you said happened. If you show up at St Mungo's with me as badly injured as I suspect I am, you'd be looking at a longer probation or even possible time in Azkaban."

Severus snorted and turned away from her, appearing to be handling something on the desk. "Well, I suppose you aren't called  _the Brightest Witch of her Age_  for nothing."

'You know that's just a silly thing some people said back when I was in school," Hermione replied, glaring at his back. "I merely inferred your course of action based on the available data."

"If only you could use that pretty brain of yours to avoid wizards with scalding pots of coffee, that might actually mean something." Severus spoke in a somewhat absent-minded manner as he measured something out. "Now hush. I need to change your bandages."

He turned around, and she realized that he'd somehow wandlessly levitated a number of linen bandages in the air around him. In the soft glow of the room, it almost looked like a halo of some sort. They all appeared to be slathered with some sort of thick, greenish ointment that smelled strongly of eucalyptus.

It wasn't until he pulled back the sheet that Hermione realized that she was bare from her chest down to her knickers. She didn't have a chance to be embarrassed, though, as Severus clinically vanished her old bandages with a flourish of his wand and then gently pulled her up into a sitting position so that he could wrap the new ones around her. When he'd finished fastening them to her side, he gently helped her back down and wrapped her tightly in the sheets.

_His sheets_ , she thought, feeling suddenly embarrassed and guilty.

"Where will you sleep?" she asked in a tiny voice. The bed was little more than a hospital cot that looked as though it had been dragged out of a basement storeroom, but it was the only proper sleeping apparatus she could see in the room.

Severus let out a rueful laugh. "There is a chair by the fireplace if I need a bit of a kip. Other than that…" He looked at her and shook his head. "I do not require much in the way of sleep."

"The burn...can you tell me how bad it is?" Hermione steeled herself for the worst. She hadn't been able to get a proper look at her wounds in the dim light and the pain had been excruciating for the moments it took for the salve to soak in.

"Bad enough that you will need to spend at least a few hours here. There was some subcutaneous damage and though your robes absorbed the majority of the heat, they fused to the top layer of skin in some places, so it had to be removed. Of course, I will do my best to return at regular intervals to change your dressings." He turned away again and Hermione heard a strange popping and cracking sound before the unmistakable beginning of "Money" by Pink Floyd began to play. "You know...after our conversation I... I decided to do an experiment with my father's record player. Took a bit of fiddling, but I got it working."

Hermione tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace as a dull, burning ache traveled down her chest.

"I can turn it off if you like." At some point, he'd turned back to look at her. His tone of voice was soft and slightly disappointed, but she could tell that he wasn't angry at her.

"No, please. It's lovely, actually." Hermione tried to speak slowly to avoid further pain.

His lips seemed to twitch at the corners for a moment and the lines around his eyes softened a bit, though it could have been a trick of the flickering candlelight. He nodded, then, and left the record to play. Stepping towards the door, he turned back and said, "I will be in the other room finishing up some final preparations for the Gretskin order, but I will return shortly."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, her eyes feeling somewhat heavy, despite the cacophony of coins and cash registers clinking out of the speakers.

"You should not thank me," he muttered darkly. "Were it not for me, you would not even need to be here."

With that, he closed the door quietly behind him, and Hermione had only a short time to ponder on his words before she succumbed to exhaustion and slept.

* * *

"Oi, Barnsley, come over here will you?" Severus motioned to the somewhat shifty custodial wizard.

"What'd you be wantin' then, Mr. Snape?" Sid Barnsley was one of Severus' few fans after the fallout of the war had finally settled. The man had been knocked down by life, but his son was safe from the snatchers thanks to a "clerical error" that Severus had purposely not caught that had marked the boy down as pure-blooded. It helped that Severus also kept an almost immaculate lab, which left Barnsley extra time to relax at the end of a grueling night custodial shift.

"Say, your wife is a Muggle, correct?" Severus asked.

Barnsley nodded. "My Edina is the sweetest woman I've ever met."

"Is there some way she could get another one of these?" Severus pulled the ruined Discman from a drawer he'd placed it in earlier.

Barnsley frowned at it, but nodded. "If it's a new Muggle device, my wife will know how to get another."

"I'll have to add it to my tab," Severus said, referring to the fact that his assets were frozen in his Gringotts account until he completed probation.

"Not a problem, Mr. Snape," Barnsley said, taking the ruined Discman and tucking it into his robes. "You did right by my boy, so far's I'm concerned we're square."

"Thank you, Barnsley." Severus did his best to look deeply appreciative. "It is for a friend."

Barnsley looked a bit surprised at this. "It's good to hear that you've got one, Mr. Snape. I'd say it's high time, what with how smart and talented you are."

Severus tried not to flinch. The words had slipped out, and already he regretted it. "Well, I suppose she is not really a friend, per-se, but—"

Barnsley elbowed him gently in the ribs and winked mischievously. "Ah, I see how it is! I'll let Edina know it's for your lady friend, then. I'm sure she'll find the perfect thing."

Severus felt himself go pink all the way to his toes. "That...that will not be necessary…"

But Barnsley had already grabbed his wheeled rubbish bin and was heading out of the lab with a smile on his face. "Gotta get going! Don't you worry, Mr. Snape!"

Severus was left standing there, his expression somewhat far away, until one of his timer charms went off, startling him back to the moment.

"I need to get ahold of myself," he muttered absentmindedly, moving to stir the first in a long line of potions.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the sensation of a cool washcloth on her forehead.

"You appear to have a slight fever. Your wounds are looking much improved, though." Severus deftly finished tucking her new bandages over her chest. "One more dressing in two hour's time, should be sufficient."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Severus."

"Again, this is my fault. I am merely trying to undo what I have done." Severus leaned forward. "You will need a fever-reducing potion so I need to help you sit up. Place your arms around my neck and I will help you up."

Hermione gently raised her arms, feeling a twinge of pain, but it wasn't nearly as unbearable as it had been earlier. Slowly, Severus pulled backward until she was upright. He then used his wand to levitate pillows behind her so she could sink back and still stay in a mostly upright position.

"Ah, this is much better," Hermione remarked, looking up into his eyes with gratitude.

"While that might be a more appropriate thing to say once you are fully healed, it does appear that you are doing much better." Severus pulled away reluctantly, the shame of having harmed her only to receive such earnest gratitude filling him with equal parts regret and longing.

He handed her the potion, impressed at how she downed the entire thing in one gulp. She made a face, but then smiled at him as she returned the empty glass. "Anything to get better quickly! After all, I still have to finish the case study for the Frengle briefing."

"Hermione." Severus had placed the glass down on the counter with an audible clink. "You are not trapped here like I am. Why are you working yourself to the bone for no extra pay or recognition?"

Hermione laughed softly. "What do you mean? I'm trying to make the Wizarding World a better place. It's important work, Severus!"

"You could do anything. Go anywhere. Apprentice under the greatest masters in the Wizarding World. Travel the world. You could do so much better than this, Hermione. So much better than long nights and scalding coffee burns. You are not a boring person who stays in one place until she settles down and has a few kids all whilst pushing increasingly tall stacks of paper around. I have seen all that you are capable of, and this is not even a fraction of your talent."

"Well, Ron is—"

"Stop thinking of your friends for one bloody second!" Severus stepped back, embarrassed by his outburst, and took a deep breath. In a calmer voice, he said, "If you really, truly enjoy what you are doing, that is fine. But I see a witch who is making more work for herself because she is hopelessly, utterly bored and trying to convince herself that this tiny little office space is enough for her inquisitive intellect."

"Is that why you're always avoiding me?" Hermione asked, her expression growing a bit cross. "Because you think that I'm better than you?"

"No! It is because you have your freedom but you refuse to use it to better yourself!" Severus replied tersely. "You are a war hero and I know that you are infinitely talented, yet you slave away here in a back office doing low-level secretarial work!"

"So what, you burned me on purpose so you could sit here and lecture me?" Hermione's voice had grown shrill.

"What? No! It was an accident!" Severus raised his voice to match hers.

"Oh really? Then did you purposely burn me down the front so you could rip my clothing off and see me shirtless?" Hermione's face was red with shame.

"Of course not!" Severus replied angrily. "If I had known you were within a twenty foot radius, I would have avoided you like the plague for precisely this reason!"

"And what might that be?" Hermione was practically shouting.

"Because I know that being around you always leads to trouble!" Severus' eyes went wide and he clapped his hands over his mouth, but the damage had been done. Hermione was looking at him with a shocked expression as his cheeks reddened and a horrible, sick ticklish feeling rose in the back of his throat.

"Is that so?" Hermione said. "Fine. I'll leave then."

She swung her legs around to the side of the bed and leaned forward to get out of bed.

"No! You will rip open your wounds!" Severus leapt forward and pushed her back into bed, but tripped on the duvet and fell forward on top of her. Luckily, he was able to throw out one arm so that he didn't actually press against her wounds, but it left him staring down at her as they both breathed heavily with anger and exertion.

"I didn't mean it," he said, his voice soft.

"What?"

"I didn't mean what I said," he said, "so please. Stay. I want you to heal. Then you never have to speak to me again."

Hermione breathed in deeply and held it for a long time, then breathed out, her coloring going back to normal. "Fine. I'll stay. But I do want to speak to you again, Severus. I like being around you."

"That's ridiculous!" Severus sputtered, pushing himself off the bed. He then helped scoot Hermione back onto the pillows so that she was propped up again. "I am not a likeable man, Hermione, and you know it."

"But you love music too, don't you?" Hermione asked, looking at him with pleading eyes. "Your record player is lovely."

"Indeed, but it is from a different era than your confounded pop music," Severus said dismissively.

"But I love music from all sorts of eras," Hermione protested. "I love classical. I love jazz. I love early rock and soul and motown and prog rock and even a little punk, though that's more of Harry's jam to be honest. Now that my Discman is...well...dead...it would be nice to have something to fill the silence."

Severus turned back to the record player and turned it to the other side. "How about this?"

As the music began to play, Hermione closed her eyes and let the cacophony of noises fill her ears. There was a slight shift of weight on the bed as Severus sat down near the foot of it, his own eyes closing as well. He'd always loved the discordant sounds of  _Speak to Me_ — it was almost as though his own ragged, fraying thoughts had been scratched into vinyl.

They sat together, quietly listening to the music until a chime sounded, alerting Severus that the next stage in his potion was ready to complete.

"I...I should go," Severus said sheepishly, going still as Hermione placed her hand over his, her eyes still closed.

"Thank you, Severus," she said, squeezing his hand gently, "for listening with me."

"I will be back shortly," Severus replied, and without fully realizing it, he squeezed her hand back.

* * *

"Hermione, please wake up. I need to look at your wounds," Severus said, gently shaking Hermione awake from where she lay dozing.

"Oh, hi Severus," she said dreamily, "I was just dreaming about you."

"Were you?" He tried to keep his voice carefully neutral. "Come on then. Time for you to sit up."

Hermione wrapped her arms around him, this time pulling herself almost nose to nose with him as he pulled her up to a sitting position. "It was an odd dream. You were sitting on this fence talking about madness."

"Well, now I know it was a dream," Severus replied, "How nonsensical!"

"Yeah, but then you let me put my head on my lap and stroked my hair," Hermione said, closing her eyes and leaning forward. "You...were...so...pre...tty...unhhhhh…"

Severus had to steady her as she closed her eyes again and became dead weight in his arms. He placed a hand on her forehead and swore loudly. She was burning up even worse than before! How had he missed this?!

Instantly, he set to work, running to his personal potion stores to pull a potent fever reducing and infection destroying potion from their stasis charms. They'd have a slightly reduced potency from sitting under a charm instead of being brewed freshly, but he had no time.

Leaning her back in one arm, Severus held open her mouth only for her to close it again. There was no room for error. If he spilled the potion, her brain would burn up with fever, or he'd have to take her to St Mungos and risk going to Azkaban...or worse.

Out of desperation, Severus took a mouthful of potion and pressed his lips against hers, feeding the liquid into her mouth and massaging her throat so that she swallowed it. He did this ten times- five for each potion, then sat back and waited, trying to ignore the screaming voice in his head that was telling him that he was the most awful letch in the world for  _kissing_ an unconscious woman.

"It wasn't kissing," he reminded himself, his traitorous cheeks aflame. "It was a necessary life-saving treatment."

But even then, she wasn't out of the woods yet. He sat by her bed, swapping out cool washcloths and changing her bed sheets whenever she sweated through them. He changed her dressings three times despite the fact that he knew he'd really only need one final one. Her skin was almost back to normal. There were only a few large reddish patches that needed to heal and she'd be back to her old self again.

That is, if her blasted fever ever broke.

It was getting close to the morning rush. Severus knew that Hermione would likely not be able to show up first thing in the morning, especially not in this state.

"Hermione! Wake up!" he said, splashing cool water on her cheek.

Hermione groaned and cracked open one eye. She was still panting slightly and looked very much out of it.

"You need to write a sick note," he explained. "I can't copy your handwriting."

"Nghhhh," Hermione groaned, shaking her head.

"Come on, then," Severus said, "You need to get better."

"Don' wanna. I'll be fine," she muttered.

"Now you see here!" Severus exclaimed. "You have a fever that could kill you!"

Hermione paused and sighed. "Fiiiiine."

Severus began to panic when he realized that her writing was a horrible, indecipherable mess.

Desperate, Severus ran to her office to look at one of her memos. Luckily, he found a dusty old typewriter down on the floor by her desk. It hadn't been used by Hermione since she'd started working there, but he figured it would do.

He typed up a serviceable note, then used his wand to copy Hermione's signature and sent it through the interoffice mail by using the proper charm.

"There," he muttered, and ran back to his room.

Hermione was gone.

The bedside table was knocked on its side and her bed sheets were hastily thrown aside, but other than that, there was no sign of a struggle. Frantically, he looked through the room and down the hall. He even checked his potions lab. His thoughts turned to the busy street outside. Or even that she'd somehow Apparated away. He could not leave the Ministry premises due to his probation terms, so he was stuck roaming the halls, getting dirty looks from various early-arriving Ministry employees. In the end, though, he found no trace of her.

It was only a month later that he received a piece of mail by owl post that looked as though it had been sent through the wringer.

All it said was this:

_I am safe. And, ironically, taking your advice. Your friend, H_

There was no return address, and when Severus tried to trace it, he had no luck. A week later, Barnsley came through with the Discman, leaving Severus wondering just how this piece of technology that was so important to Hermione actually worked. The disks that went into it seemed to be similar to records, but were infinitely larger in space and more durable as well. Soon, Severus had convinced Barnsley to get him a few CDs. He was impressed with the sound, but not the cost. Some of the CD's were over twenty pounds each, though he was able to get some of the classical music albums for relatively cheap.

Barnsley had been the one to find the mix CD in the broken Discman and returned it to Severus with a knowing smile. Severus looked at Hermione's neat lettering on the front of the CD and got a strange feeling in his belly that made him feel wistful and worried at the same time. He scolded himself—it would not do for him to be thinking of her in such a way! But he had to admit that he needed to keep her CD until she returned.

"But only so I can repay her," he muttered to himself as he slipped the headphones on and began to listen.

* * *

Two years was a long time to be away, but Hermione made the best of it. She'd done something foolish in her fugue state- had knocked over the bedside table and in her delirium, she lunged forward to catch it, falling to the floor in the process. As she groaned in pain, her hand had brushed against something and then she'd been inside out and upside down and lying on wet grass staring at stars she was fairly certain shouldn't be up in the sky.

Someone with a roaring fairy light lantern had come, then, and shouted at her for making noise in the middle of the bloody night and in response she'd promptly lost consciousness.

When she came to, it was morning and that was when she'd met Master Reighter. The witch was a few years shy of one hundred, her tan, rough skin lined in ways that Hermione didn't realize it was possible to fold. Her hazel eyes were clear, though, and she had the habit of colouring her wispy dollop of white hair unusual shades. In fact, when Hermione had first opened her eyes to see Master Reighter staring down at her with blue-cotton-candy hair and black cat's eye glasses and a stern expression, Hermione squeaked and hid under the covers. She knew that look. It was the look that Professor McGonagall made when she was most displeased. It was the look that Professor Snape always gave her before telling her that she'd simply repeated an answer verbatim from a textbook without really thinking about it. It was the look her mum gave her when she lied about eating the last shortbread biscuit in the tin that had been hidden in the cupboard over the refrigerator.

"Well," the old witch said, "Best get this over with. Who sent you in such a frightful state, and where do you belong?"

Hermione had sputtered a bit before piecing together the circumstances that had brought her to her current location and telling her story as best she could. Master Reighter had nodded at the portkey (an old glass doorknob, now useless) which sat on the mantle of her fireplace.

"I can make arrangements for you once you're fully recovered, but for now, you will stay here, and you will rest," the old witch said gruffly. "Now then, I've got to go tend to the beasties."

Hermione learned later that Master Reighter lived on a small island off of the coast of Wales. It was shrouded in a magical mist that kept it from being discovered, and it was home to all manner of mythical creatures and rare plants that had long since been extinct in mainland Europe. Master Reighter did a tidy business caring for them, harvesting potions ingredients, and even allowing small expeditions with reputable magizoologists to visit.

Hermione did not get better all at once. There were plenty of new sounds for her to get accustomed to, from the mournful cry of the welsh short-snouted pygmy dragons to the whinnies of the porlocks from the stables. One morning, she awoke with a clear mind to the sound of a flock of phoenixes serenading her from the trees. Master Reighter handed her a cup of herbal tea and they chatted a bit about what Hermione had been doing at the Ministry and what Severus had said to Hermione about her career.

"I'd always hoped he'd come back to study," Master Reighter said wistfully, "but he chose that foolish group of hooligans over working with the flora and fauna here."

"You know Severus?" Hermione was confused. As far as she knew, the room where Severus was forced to stay in the bowels of the Ministry was only a step up from a cell. She'd doubted that anything other than perhaps his clothing was actually his.

Master Reighter smiled. "That portkey was designed to stay inert unless someone with great need touched it. I told Severus that he could not use it to come here to hide— he had to have an honest passion for the thankless work of being my apprentice or he would never be allowed to return."

"I guess my great need was my stupid fever…" Hermione trailed off, feeling embarrassed. Not only had she technically stolen something that belonged to Severus, but she hadn't even fulfilled the spirit of the spell.

"That is not necessarily true," Master Reighter replied, looking over the tops of her glasses at Hermione with an expression somewhere between shrewd and calculating.

"Well, in any case," Hermione said hurriedly, pushing forward to share her idea before Master Reighter could change the subject, "I insist that I at least help out a bit before you send me back. You've been so kind to me and helped me in my recovery despite being practically a stranger."

"You call my barking at you to stay in bed and bitter medicine kindness?" The elder witch scoffed, her dark eyes twinkling. "You intrigue me, young lady."

"Please!" Hermione begged, "I won't disappoint you!"

"Even if I make you shovel dragon dung?" Master Reighter smiled evilly.

"Even then," Hermione replied, resolute.

"Hn. Fine. I'll humour your request, then," Master Reighter said with a nod. "We'll be waking at four in the morning, so you best get to bed right after supper. Enjoy your last day of rest and recuperation and don't say I didn't warn you!"

With that, they shook on their agreement and Hermione debated sending a letter to Severus to explain her disappearance. Master Reighter had already had her dictate a letter to owl to Harry earlier in her convalescence after Hermione realized that he would likely tear all of London apart looking for her if she went missing for too long. Her job had placed her on extended leave too. But Harry would never think to tell the disgraced Potions master, especially since there was no reason to really consider him a  _friend_.

"He's probably relieved that I'm no longer his problem," she muttered sadly, hoping against hope that she hadn't said anything too embarrassing while in her feverish state.

The problem was, she kept remembering the sensation of thin, cool lips on her own. She couldn't help wondering if maybe she was wrong after all.

"I'll send him a short message," she decided, finally, and did it before she lost her nerve.

Her week of help turned into a month, and she found herself with a new song in her heart. Baby phoenixes nested in her hair and she sang along with their tiny melodic chirps as she did her daily rounds. There was a different music in the way the wind rushed through the valley and through the trees; a wild song that Hermione never tired of hearing.

When Master Reighter finally formally accepted her as an apprentice, Hermione nearly cried with joy. She vowed that she would learn everything about magical creatures so that she could protect them and advocate for them in ways that she'd never learn from a textbook once she returned to the Ministry. A quick letter to Harry helped sort that out, but his reply gave her pause.

_Dear Hermione,_

_You'll never believe who billowed into my office last Wednesday, Hermione,_  he wrote.  _Why, after I last saw Snape's horrible purple face at the court hearing before he was sentenced to his probation, I was certain he would make it his mission in life to avoid me. It was the weirdest thing. He_ _ **demanded**_   _to know if you were actually safe and then accused me of lying when I told him I hadn't the foggiest idea._

_I'm not sure why he was so insistent, but rest assured, I won't let him intimidate me into telling him a thing. Also, as he left, I saw the oddest thing as his collar rippled— he was wearing headphones around his neck under his bulky outer robes! Can you believe it? Snape with Muggle tech! Maybe I was seeing things, but the mental image of Snape listening to Muggle music is amusing enough to make me laugh even as I'm writing this._

_Please write soon. It's busy here; we get all the crappy lower-level cases and it's boring as hell most of the time. I want to hear everything about the island- it sounds beautiful. Oh right. Ron says he'll write you later- I know he's being a git again about keeping in touch, but he's been stupidly twitterpated over this bloke in the mailroom for a week and won't see reason. Ginny says hi too, and Luna is...Luna. She said that she'd love it if you could mail her a Snorgloff. I said I'd check, but no promises._

_Ta!_

_-Harry_

Hermione smiled. There were indeed Snorgloffs on the island, but sending one through the mail was impossible. Master Reighter would have her hide. Later, though, she made sure to sketch them as they fed in the trazzleberry trees on the south side of the island and owled it to Luna.

She couldn't stop thinking about what Harry had written about Snape, though. Had he truly seen headphones around Snape's neck? The thought made her heart flop over in an uncomfortable manner. That would mean…

She tried to put it out of her mind. Here on the island, there was no electricity, much less a CD store. Even if there had been all of that available, it was a moot point because her Diskman had been destroyed.

"Why the long face, my student?" Master Reighter said, making Hermione jump with how silently she'd come up behind her.

"Well, I...I miss my music," Hermione lamented, looking at the floor.

"Why didn't you say so?" Master Reighter laughed heartily and ducked into her room faster than Hermione would have thought a woman of her age could move. She emerged with a somewhat battered-looking penny whistle.

" _That one_  left this here last time, and I doubt it'll be getting use anytime soon," she said, simply. "Clean it up and make it shine and with a bit of practice, you'll have something serviceable for all the music you want to play."

Hermione took it slowly, then held it up to the light. It was a little battered and off-colour, but nothing she couldn't fix up. Then she noticed the small, crude engraving on the bottom.

"S…" She looked up, eyes widened. "Severus played pennywhistle?"

"Not as well as you'd think considering all his practice, but he's always been into potions and spellwork. He'd rather listen than make music."

Hermione put the mouthpiece to her lips and blew. A tinny sound escaped it, and Master Reighter laughed loudly.

"A fair first try, but you'll need to be better than that to charm the dragons from the skies," she commented.

And thus, Hermione's apprenticeship continued for two long (or short, depending on what day it was) years, from helping brooding phoenixes get enough food to heat their nests by delivering baskets of fruit grown in the hot house during the winters was far easier and went faster than scooping dragon dung until her arms felt like they'd fall off.

But soon enough, Hermione had mastered it all. When she was finally able to play a song on the penny whistle with enough mastery to call a Gloaming Green dragon from the sky, groom it for loose scales and fungus (which would be collected for potions ingredients), and then send it on its way with minimal fuss, it was time. That evening, Master Reighter finally presented her with a fine Mastery pin made of phoenix down, dragon scales, leathered puffskein tongue, and ringed with emeralds and rubies stolen by their resident niffler population.

The creatures, which had all become dear friends to Hermione, and who she knew by name, attended, and other than a bit of niffler trouble (for when is there not?), it was a grand time had by all. While she did not have her Potions mastery, she'd learned the names of all the various rare ingredients and plants on the island as well as their various effects. She could spot phony ingredients a mile away.

"You are finally ready to return," Master Reighter said with a smile. "However, my final command before you become a Master yourself is that you must also promise to visit."

Over time, the gruff, strict old witch had become closer than family, and Hermione teared up as she hugged Master Reighter goodbye.

"I'm not good with goodbyes, so go on, get out of here!" the old witch groused, hiding her face with her hair. "Won't be the same around here with you is all."

Hermione smiled warmly. She could hear the tears in her former master's voice. "I promise. Even if you hadn't demanded it of me. I will always come back to visit. How could I not?"

With that, Hermione climbed up on the back of a waiting Hebridean Black, who was on its way back to the mainland for its winter migration, and took flight.

Hermione could feel her heart burning with joyful phoenixsong as she thought of all she'd learned and all that she was coming back to, and with a musical trill, her body seemed to blur as it shifted into that of a gorgeous golden, red, and purple phoenix. She threw her beak wide and sang, her dragon steed roaring back in answer. A chorus of similar roars echoed from the east and her dragon friend changed course to join the flock. She knew that at the speed they were flying, the mainland would be coming into view soon. Hermione dug her claws into the dragon's scales, holding on tightly, and flattened her feathery body against its back. Her song carried on the air, causing dogs on the coast to prick their ears long before she could see the shore.

She was ready for anything.

* * *

Severus was obsessed.

It took him awhile to wire his little room secretly with a computer and monitor that actually worked, but he finally did it. With a spindle full of writable CD's, he began to copy music over to the computer and make his own mixes. Hermione's mix had been a favourite for a long time, but he'd never known it was possible to make a music mix on one's own. Luckily, Barnsley's wife was quite computer literate, and they'd set him up with everything he'd ever need. He'd borrow a CD from her (many of which she'd borrowed from a library), burn it to his computer, and then return it.

For the first time in a long while, Severus began to feel a certain novel excitement burning in his belly. Brewing potions was only fun if he could experiment and do things his way. But the Ministry was strict on its requirements. Everything had to be by the book, even if it wasn't efficient or netted a less potent result. It was an exercise in frustration. But with these music mixes, he could do all manner of things- create an album of tracks to listen to when he was feeling wistful or angry or content or gloomy. He could go from classical to contemporary in two tracks and nobody could tell him he couldn't.

It hadn't occurred to him where she could have gone for several weeks, and by that time he'd embarrassed himself by making a scene in Potter's office after he'd received her short note. It was only after he was going through his drawers and realized what was missing that he realized what had happened.

"The portkey...the one that I used as a damned paperweight because it never worked…" he trailed off, grumbling to himself.

But why had it worked for Hermione and not him? He'd tried to find his way back to the island time and time again, only to be thwarted. He'd sent letters to that old witch for many years begging her to teach him how to make it work, but she'd made it clear that she would not speak to him again until he washed his hands of the Death Eaters. He could not risk anyone knowing that he was done for good, not with the Dark Lord sure to return. He had reasoned that she would be safe, and besides, she deserved to be left alone after all she'd endured. Many assumed that she was dead, anyway, and Severus was happy to allow others to assume.

His probationary period would be over within the year. Once his assets had been unfrozen, he could finally begin to rebuild his life. He wasn't rich by any means, but he would be comfortable enough until he could find some sort of employment.

Under the false floor of his trunk, Severus had hidden her original mix CD (he'd burned it to his computer and burned a copy as soon as possible to avoid scratching the original) and a bag containing her old Discman. He now knew that he could not part with the one he'd originally intended to replace hers, as it was obviously far from new any longer. He'd also found (after washing her robes to store for her return) the secret pocket she'd placed in them to hide her Discman.

"Clever girl," he'd mused, and then created one for himself.

By the time Severus Snape was pronounced a free man, he'd created the perfect music mix to leave through the front doors of the Ministry building, his trunk levitating behind him.

He was ready, and with the driving beat to "Eye of the Tiger," spurring him onward, Severus stepped out into freedom with a heart full of fire.

* * *

Hermione's return to the Ministry didn't last long.

That wasn't to say that the Ministry didn't want her; Kingsley himself directed senior management to restructure her position several times to keep her and by the time she turned in her resignation letter, she was making what she considered an ungodly amount of money. None of that mattered, though.

Before she left, Hermione was instrumental in drafting two pivotal pieces of legislation to create and expand the protections and rights of magical creatures and humanoids, but she also ran into a significant amount of opposition from witches and wizards that were used to the old ways. More importantly, she realized that she didn't want to spend the rest of her days behind a desk.

Besides, she'd promised Master Reighter a visit.

* * *

"Hermione."

She turned, her heart in her throat, and stared at the figure in baggy Muggle attire lurking partway out of the shadows. Her fingers pressed against her wand, but she didn't draw it; not yet.

"Severus? What are you doing here?" she hissed, looking up and down the docks to see if anyone else was around.

"Oh, this and that." His gaze was a little shifty, but it seemed more out of embarrassment than malice. "I have something for you."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but he placed a box in her hand before she could say anything.

"It'll work with your computer," he explained. "It's new. You can also use what Muggles call MP3 CDs. To replace...the other one."

Hermione flushed, her mind racing back to the moment that had started everything. She opened the box and stared at the device inside. There was a dark blue semi-translucent lid, and the rest was a brushed silvery plastic and aluminum. It was light in her hands, and she gasped with delight when she realized that he'd included folding behind-the-ear headphones. She pushed the open button and realized that there was a disk inside.

Her mix. The one she'd thought lost forever.

"Oh, Severus...it's absolutely brilliant!" she said, her voice catching despite herself. "Thank you!"

Severus stepped backward into shadow, his body language awkward and flighty. "It's no more than you deserve after my blunder. I...you look well."

"Wait, please don't go!" Hermione hurriedly placed the items back in the box, then shrunk them with her wand, tucking them securely into her pocket. "I know it's none of my business, but what are you doing in this little Muggle port town on the edge of nowhere? Fishing?"

He turned back to her and fixed her with an impatient look. "What do you think?"

"What do you…" she trailed off, her eye drawn to a battered little fishing boat tied to one of the posts; a boat with no fishing nets or supplies, its bow painted with the name  _The Sly Rin_. "That's yours, isn't it?"

"Well spotted," he quipped, his voice growing sarcastic around the edges. "Perhaps you should change your name to Holmes."

Hermione frowned. "It's  _her_ , isn't it?"

He looked out into the foggy night towards a port that even now, her heart was pinging softly in ¾ time, straining to hear a reply, and nodded.

A wave of strange feelings wrapped over Hermione like a wave. Part of her was excited. He knew her former Master! But then a thread of caution tangled her thoughts. Why had he been unable to find the island after all of this time? It had been over a year! And then there was a twinge of something uncomfortable in her belly—jealousy? But why? Could it be...that Severus...and Master Reighter had...a romantic past together? It would certainly make sense considering that so many of his things had been left there. Still, Hermione tried to keep her demeanor professional.

"Would...would you mind taking me there?" she asked. "I...need a way across."

This was a fib, of course. Her original plan had been to transform into her phoenix form, fly over the bay while singing her heartsong, and catch a ride with a Gold-Tipped Seadragon once she got off the coast. For out of all the subspecies of Seadragons, Gold-Tips were addicted to the sound of music, and basked in resonant sound the way that lizards love to sun themselves on a rock. Besides, Hermione happened to know it was their mating season so there was bound to be at least a few in these waters.

"I would have thought that a resourceful witch such as yourself would have already devised an ingenious method of getting there," Severus replied bitterly.

"But don't you want to go there too?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. After all, I'm just a humble fisherman." He shuffled his foot, staring at the gnarled wooden planks at his feet.

"I don't believe you." Hermione fixed him with a shrewd look, and the scrawny man before her shifted uncomfortably.

"I've tried. Can't." His eyes avoided hers with a subtle grace.

Hermione hadn't had the courage to ask her former Master about Severus, but she'd gathered a few things from the bits and pieces she'd heard over the course of her apprenticeship. There had been some sort of argument-a bad one-and she'd magically booted him off the island. But Hermione couldn't figure out why, if she'd banned him for such a serious offense, she would also give him the portkey.

If she was being honest with herself, she'd not really thought much about it until faced with the man himself. He seemed so much smaller and exhausted-looking in his Muggle attire. The woolen cap he'd pulled down over his ears made his face look even sharper and more angular than usual, and his dark, greasy hair still hung in sheets on the sides of his cheeks, clinging to his jaw and neckline like a cowl.

He looked like a man who'd been crushed by the world and had only barely survived. From the looks of it, he wasn't far from giving up altogether.

"Come on, then," she said gently, and held out her hand.

He stared at her hand like it was a venomous snake and frowned deeply. "What do you—"

"Come to the island," she said, simply. "We can sort things out once you're there."

"She'll never let me find it," he said bitterly.

"I know you don't...think much of me," Hermione started, noticing how he flinched when she said the words, "but I promise that I can get you where you need to go. The only thing I ask is that you don't question my methods."

He raised an eyebrow at that- a ghost of the inquisitive confidence she'd known back in her school days. It seemed so long ago, now, though it truly hadn't been. Now, both of them had scars and wrinkles from furrowed brows and the fear and fury of war. Hermione even had a shock of gray hair that grew under her right ear- she tucked it into the center of her braid when she plaited her hair back away from her face, but it always seemed to work its way to the surface.

"Please." Hermione's voice was low and filled with magic- she could feel the firebird in her heart stirring to surface from within her. "Take my hand." Her voice was warm and rich now, more song than spoken word.

Severus was very still for a long moment, and then, his hand darted out, entwining with hers tightly. Hermione squeezed back, the warmth of her skin growing as tiny ember-like flickers of magic began to rise from her body.

"Be not afraid and hold fast to me," she sang, and her body shifted into flame.

* * *

_She's a phoenix?!_ Severus' shock was equal to his sense of wonder.

Her flames licked over his skin but rather than burning him, it was as though he'd been encased in a plush, magical blanket. His whole body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes felt light and warm as though he were bobbing along in a deliciously safe sea.

She was all feathers and song and her feet held him fast against her feathered body.

They were flying higher and higher until they broke out over the clouds, the musical trill of Hermione's voice echoing in the starry sky. The waning moon seemed huge against the velvety dark sky and glowed yellow as toasted butter.

A glow beneath them made Severus start. Lightning? But there hadn't been any mention of thunder in the weather report he'd read that morning.

Soon, though, he realized he'd been in error as a massive golden head rose above the clouds, its deep call echoing in his bones as it replied to Hermione's phoenixsong.

The sea dragon's head and shoulders, as well as the tip of its tail seemed to be covered by golden armor, but Severus knew that the creatures grew it naturally, thanks to Hagrid's propensity to talk on at length about dragons over the years. Instead of a pair of wings on its back, it had thousands of small, oar-like wings that served as fins in its primary habitat, allowing it to snake through the sky and water with the same versatility. The beast's long, thick whiskers reminded him of a catfish, but its muzzle seemed almost dog-like, with a wet, black nose that could scent blood in the water from hundreds of miles away. Its dinner-plate-sized eye went wide, pupil enlarging, as it fixed upon Hermione's flying form. Then, it was moving through the air, closing the distance between them far too quickly for Hermione to ever be able to dodge.

Severus flinched and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the worst.

The sensation of scales below him made him open them up again, his mouth hanging wide in shock. The creature had glided underneath them and it almost seemed as though it was...giving them a ride?!

He placed his free hand between the plated scales, grabbing gently to the soft furred coat underneath, and expected Hermione's grip on his other hand to recede. He wasn't a heavy man by any means, and phoenixes were known to be able to carry all manner of weight many hundreds of times heavier than themselves, but he still felt guilty for having burdened her. Here she was, brilliant and healed from the war, and yet he was much the same as he always was- bad tempered, bitter, isolated, and depressed.

She landed, holding to his hand with one of her clawed feet, and wrapped the warmth of her wing over his body.

And then, she sang.

It was the feeling of pure joy transmitted into sound, and it rattled Severus down to his bones. The Seadragon cried out in response, singing a baseline of windy days and turbulent seas and calm coves.

The warm wetness on his cheeks was a shock to him, but Severus didn't have time to feel shame for being brought to tears. There was something in his chest, bubbling and simmering to the surface. Something he could not hold back, that he did not  _want_  to hold back any longer.

As the sound of bird and beast wove towards the climax of their duet, Severus Snape threw back his head.

And sang.

* * *

"And why have you brought  _him_  here?" Master Reighter demanded from underneath a crooked, patched umbrella, as Hermione landed on the rise of the hill near her house and shifted back to human form. Her hand held Severus' tightly, but he made no motion to disconnect himself from her.

"He's done enough," Hermione said, her tone still filled with song. "There is nothing he could have done that requires more penance than what he has given. So I have brought him to you."

The elder witch huffed loudly and narrowed her eyes. "Well, you'd better come in. Wouldn't want you two to keel over of pneumonia in the middle of this storm. After all, I have no strong desire to dig your graves."

Hermione led the way, while Severus seemed willing to bob along behind her like a balloon on a string.

She could feel his palm begin to sweat and the tightness in his fingers as they moved closer to the main room of the house. "Severus," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "Don't worry. I'm here."

"It's more the fact that  _she's_  here," he muttered, and Hermione was reminded of her earlier thought— perhaps this was some sort of old flame? But if that was so, then it would really have to have been an  _old_  flame, because Master Reighter, while very good looking for her age, was at least in her seventies. Plus, the idea of Master Reighter in a serious romantic relationship seemed very hard to picture.

"You sit there, Severus," Master Reighter said, pointing to a tall chair by the fire. "You're soaking wet. At this point, even a Drying Charm would be futile."

Severus turned back to Master Reighter as though about to protest, but Hermione raised her hand to silence him. "Don't worry. Phoenixes are water repellant." She held out her sleeve and he touched the fabric, marveling at how dry it was.

He sat in the aforementioned seat, which was rather hard and narrow. Hermione flopped onto an overstuffed couch near Master Reighter's favourite chair (it was obvious by the vibrant colouring and the puffskein wool afghan thrown over the back of it that anyone other than herself might sit upon it upon pain of death).

"So," Master Reighter said, looking at Hermione with a severe expression, "to what do I owe this... _unseemly_  visit?"

She stared daggers at Severus as she said it and he shrunk down in his chair.

"I beg your pardon," Hermione interjected, "but would you mind explaining why you're so angry at him?"

"He threw in his lots with a  _monster_ ," Master Reighter growled. "It isn't exactly rocket science!"

Hermione raised her voice in protest. "Yes, but he's done quite a lot to make up—"

"Hermione." Severus' voice was soft, but there was a commanding tone to it that made her go immediately silent. He turned towards Master Reighter, his fingers twisting nervously in his lap. "I know I can never undo the wrong I've done, but I need you to know that I've dedicated my life to that monster's downfall. Today, I am a free man, and clear as far as the Ministry is concerned, aired dirty laundry and all."

Master Reighter's right eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch.

"It's true," Hermione insisted.

"Look at me, Severus," Master Reighter said, her voice softer than Hermione had ever heard it.

Slowly, as though it took him great effort to do so, he raised his head.

"There's a good boy." Master Reighter stood, and approached him, her keen eyes locked on his. She tipped up his chin and stared deeply into his eyes for a moment. They were so still that it was as though they had both been carved of stone, and it took a few moments for Hermione to realize she was holding her breath, wondering if the older witch was about to kiss him right there in front of her.

Tears began to slowly trail down Severus' cheeks, but he didn't waver, didn't flinch away, and Hermione didn't realize it until Master Reighter pulled away and sniffed loudly, that she'd been crying silently as well.

"You did well, my son," she said, pulling out a dubious-looking handkerchief and honking loudly into it. "You did well."

"I...I'm sorry, Mum." His voice was barely a whisper. "I wish I'd done better."

Master Reighter shook her head, her lined face softened by the merest of smiles, and Hermione could see now how her forehead and cheekbones were almost exactly the same as her son's. "You may not always have made the best decisions, but you've learned from your mistakes and done your best, Severus. That is all I could have asked of you."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Um. I suppose it's probably best if I leave…"

"No!" Both of them turned and stared sharply at her, and Hermione sat back in her chair with wide eyes.

"You were instrumental in bringing my son back to me despite my stubbornness," Master Reighter said.

"Indeed," Severus added. "I was...a fool."

"But…but shouldn't she be Master Snape?" Hermione asked. "Or if not that, then...I suppose, Master Prince?"

Master Reighter threw back her head and laughed. "My dead-as-a-doornail drunk of a husband, may Circe spit on his grave, would always tell me that I had to be  _righter_  than him, usually followed by a thrown object. Had a bit of an inferiority complex, he did."

"It was our inside joke," Severus said, his lips turning up in a curious smile. "And later, when the Dark Lord was killing the families of followers for imagined offenses, it saved your life."

"Well, that and the fact that my dragons seem to quite like the taste of flame-seared trespassers," Master Reighter quipped. "Even if he had known who I was, I highly doubt he'd have had the stones to come here. In any case, I think it's high time we ate supper. Severus, you can peel the potatoes. Hermione, you're on meat tenderizing duty. I'll make the drinks."

They both stood and followed Master Reighter into the kitchen, and soon each was working on their task, though Master Reighter finished early and sat at the table sipping her chilled lavender lemonade. After a few moments, she set down her drink, then went over and pulled something from a quilt-covered chest in the corner of the sitting room and brought it over to the table.

"Do you remember this, Severus?" she asked, placing the old, battered Wizarding Wireless in the center.

"Indeed," he said with a nod.

"Let's play something to pass the time, then," she replied, and tuned it to a station that was playing some sort of classical music.

Hermione seared the steaks as Severus whipped up a proper mash and then began to stir-fry green beans with garlic and butter as Hermione set the table. Though the space wasn't particularly large, they moved gracefully around one another as though in a dance, and handed seasonings back and forth as though it were a regular routine. The music wove itself like a cozy blanket over the three of them, and though no one spoke it was a comfortable sort of silence in the face of the music.

It was oddly familiar and yet novel at the same time. The warmth and glow of the kitchen and the old, gnarled table with the mismatched cutlery and small vase of wildflowers seemed to evoke a simpler, safer time.

After they sat down to eat, Hermione found herself sneaking glances at both Severus and Master Reighter. They pretended not to notice, but it was obvious that they did.

"Please, do ask your burning question before your hair catches fire," Severus drawled, finally.

"Um…" Hermione felt stupid. "I…"

"Come on, former apprentice, out with it!" Master Reighter said, rolling her eyes, and Hermione could see now that she had been a fool not to notice their similarities, both physically and in mannerism. They even set their napkins on their laps the exact same way! Hermione would have laughed if she didn't feel like bursting into tears.

Severus was finally home. He'd gone above and beyond in helping her replace her Discman, even though she had stolen his portkey. But now, she was no longer an apprentice and he'd reconciled with his mother. The two of them had each other. She was practically just a third wheel taking up space. She had an idea how Severus was feeling. After all, she'd lost her family on purpose. To protect them.

The difference was that they would never be part of her life ever again because she'd stupidly used a spell that didn't have a counterspell. At the time, it had made sense— she didn't want anyone to ever find out that their memories had been tampered with.

Now, though…

"Hermione?" Master Reighter was looking at her with the exact sort of sympathetic gaze that Hermione could barely stand.

"I'm sorry...I...I have to go." Hermione stood abruptly, nearly pulling the tablecloth with her, then rushed from the room with a clinking of silverware and plates as they jostled about in her wake.

She shut herself in to toilet and leaned against the door, stuffing her fist in her mouth to stop anyone from hearing her cry. Her shoulders heaved against the cold wood, and she allowed her sadness to drain from her in an agonizingly slow manner. She was so used to holding herself together, so used to being a source of strength for others, but the truth was, she was just trying to numb herself from feeling her own pain. It felt so enormous now that it threatened to engulf everything.

A soft, musical trill sounded out from the partially open window, and Hermione looked up. There, sat a tiny, fiery fluff of feathers, preening itself and looking at her with dark eyes.

"Krrr!" it cried, fluttering over to her and tucking itself into her hair. Warmth flared against her neck as it cuddled against her.

"Kiii!" came another call, and there was a blond fluffball where the red had been. It too tucked itself into her hair, snuggling against the other side of her neck.

One after another, tiny phoenix chicks floated and wobbled through the window until Hermione was wrapped in a scarf of rich, cooing, musical song and the fluffiest of fluffy down.

She began to hum with them, and rock on her feet, her back still against the door. Her heart lightened just the tiniest bit. Even if they didn't want her, she could always find new friends. She could always take flight and soar into the forests and hide in the deep, secret places that only a phoenix could find.

It was only when she heard a soft voice humming through the other side of the door that she felt herself snap back into her surroundings.

"I...I'm sorry," she called through the door. "I'm almost finished."

"Don't be sorry." His voice rumbled through the door. "I was merely checking to make sure you didn't disappear again."

Of course. She'd already abandoned him without a word once before and it hadn't even occurred to her to tell him anything for weeks and weeks. In his eyes, she was not only unreliable, she was a flight risk. She chuckled softly at that thought. Considering her animagus form, that was actually a pretty accurate assessment.

Slowly she opened the door slightly and peeked through the crack. "I was just—"

As though on cue, all of Hermione's hidden fluffy friends began peeping.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Did your hair just...tweet at me?"

The small, yellow phoenix chick stuck its head out of her hair and Hermione felt her cheeks growing warm. "They came in the window. They don't mean any harm."

The little yellow chick tilted its head and wiggled free of Hermione's hair, then darted into the air and alighted atop Severus' hair. The man himself stood very still, almost as though he expected it to burst into flame at any moment. Hermione couldn't help it; she let out a giggle at the sight before her.

"It's on my head, isn't it?" he asked in an exasperated tone of voice.

She nodded and placed her hand over her mouth to stifle another giggle.

The little bird puffed itself up and made a high-pitched humming noise, and a little shiver of magic seemed to run over the length of its downy feathers. With a little pop, Severus' hair went from being slightly damp to dry and sticking up in all directions with extra-strength static electricity.

Hermione couldn't help herself. She let out a snort of laughter.

Before Severus could react, a sunset-gradient-coloured puffball was flying up to join the yellow phoenix chick and let off another burst of heat magic. Severus' hair had begun to look as though he'd been taking fashion tips from Albert Einstein.

Hermione's snort of laughter turned into an outright laugh as Severus tried to look scandalized.

"How dare you laugh at me," he said, but there was no ire in his words.

Hermione was practically wheezing with laughter as bird after bird began migrating over to him and fluffing him out of his damp demeanor. In the end, Severus looked very much like he had been through a drying cycle. The phoenix chicks were roosting all over his body like miniature multi-coloured lintballs and making contented cooing noises.

"They seem to like you," Hermione commented after taking some deep breaths in order to stop herself from laughing herself silly.

"Indeed," Severus replied, deadpan. "Also, it appears that you're feeling better."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you." Hermione looked away just as the scarlet phoenix chick, who'd stayed put before poked its head out of its hiding place It made a tiny hissy protective peep noise, then hid back inside of Hermione's hair when Severus scowled at it.

"I've talked with Mum," Severus said, "We would like you to stay on if you like."

Hermione stared at him.

"Not that you have to, of course!" he said quickly. "Mum's getting up in age, and she needs help. Especially since you have your...particular talent…"

"And you?" Hermione felt stupid for asking, but she had to know.

"What about me?" Severus tried to smooth his hair down, but the plethora of peeping phoenix chicks and static made it an exercise in futility.

"Do you...want me to stay?"

He shrugged. "Sure. I mean, it's fine, there's an extra bed in the spare room. Plus I'm rusty when it comes to the animals. Mum says you're a natural with them."

Hermione nodded. "After this, the Ministry simply couldn't hold my attention."

Slowly, he held out his hand. "So, then. Will you promise to stay?"

Hermione looked at his hand for a long moment as though weighing the possibility that it might be a trap. But then, she took his hand and firmly shook it.

"I promise that you won't regret this!" she exclaimed.

His lips turned up in a way that suggested the hint of a smile, and Hermione smiled back, her heart beating out a new rhythm in her chest.

* * *

There were more than a few incidents that first week back on the island. Hermione took to her expanded duties like a phoenix to an inferno, but Severus had trouble adjusting. His strengths tended to lend themselves more to gardening and creating potions to care for the various magical creatures, and he protested heartily to being forced to shovel dragon dung. He and his mother had similar tempers and often bickered with one another. Hermione found herself in the middle of their squabbles and had to play peacemaker, though years of having to do so for Harry and Ron made this almost too easy for her.

The thing that surprised her the most, though, was how well Severus did with the baby animals, especially those that tended to be shy or mistrustful of humans. The baby unicorns flocked to him, and he would make a big show of being annoyed by this, but there was always a mysterious heap of carrots that would magically appear moments later. The phoenix chicks seemed to also find him to be a perfect little roost, and often dug their way into his robes or scarf, then poofed up his hair with warmth and static electricity as thanks.

Once again, Severus would grumble a bit, but it would never amount to anything.

Hermione spent her time with the more dangerous creatures, though none seemed dangerous to her. Only deserving of a healthy dose of respect, really.  _Quite a lot like Potions masters and their mothers_ , she thought to herself. The MP3 CD player had been mostly unused during the day, but Hermione found herself dipping back into nostalgia and listening to it in her room in the evenings. All too often, Severus would find some excuse to barge in and sit on the small couch to read, as the guest room was quite a bit larger than the others due to its multi-purpose set up.

"Besides, the witch won't look for me here," he'd say, fresh off of some argument or other with Master Reighter.

Hermione wondered at their adversarial relationship. It was obvious that they loved each other, but they simply couldn't help picking at one another.

She wasn't sure when she started loving Severus, but when she woke up with her head on his lap and a blanket pulled up over her shoulder after falling asleep reading on her side of the couch, she knew that things had changed quite a lot since that long-ago encounter on the docks.

It wasn't long after that that Severus asked her to teach him how to become an animagus. According to him, this would make it easier for him to scout for various ingredients in the forest, as most animals had a keen sense of smell.

Hermione complied, though she did have to admit that the month of Severus carrying a Mandrake leaf under his tongue and scowling every time he talked as though daring anyone to laugh  _was_  rather entertaining.

It took him the better part of a year, but when he finally shifted into his final form—a beautiful silver-green Occamy with fine purple wings—they both took to the sky with Hermione making wide, joyful circles around him as she sang her heartsong.

He sang his in reply- a strange, rattling, warbling sound, but one that filled Hermione with almost as much joy as the song that burst forth from her beak.

In the end, it began to pour down rain and they sought shelter in a cave, Severus wrapping his long, serpentine body around Hermione's protectively while Hermione warmed up her feathers until they were both dry and toasty.

When they returned home, Hermione was surprised to realize that the word simply felt  _right_  when she said it. She took Severus' hand as they stepped through the front door, and he let her lead him forward, his fingers squeezing gently against hers as if to say, "I'm here."

There was still so much more to figure out, but she knew that with her new family, anything was possible.

_Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home._  She hummed a few bars of the old, familiar tune.

Hermione smiled as joy of it washed over her.

She was finally  _home_.

 


End file.
